


Defining Yourself

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternative Sexuality, Anal, Demisexual Sherlock, Demisexuality, Friends to Lovers, Gender Issues, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions Other Pairings, Oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers Sherlock has a type of sexuality he has never heard of... and that it causes him to be in love with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
A/N: I will state that I am not an authority in any way shape or form. I did lots of research, personally (over the course of many years) and for this story, so some form of data backs up the terms I use. That being said you may disagree with them personally, but keep in mind that doesn’t mean everyone else does. A great deal of this is subjective, the medical/mental health community – and apparently the LGBT(and many other letters I never heard of until today) also - are still re-defining it according to what I’ve read. At the end of the day you can only define yourself, not your neighbors. Vinny.  
  
  
“Not a couple,” John sighed under his breath, though he no longer went to lengths to defend his sexuality by pointing it out to people. Sherlock didn’t even think the waitress had heard him.

Lestrade smirked at John, John sighed and sat down in the booth beside Sherlock, and Sherlock ignored them both. He was only interested in food after having gone so many days without while pursuing their criminal. Lestrade had calmly ignored the burnt pile of evidence when Sherlock had called him to report his citizen’s arrest. Instead he’d taken the list of victims and their ‘fees’ – written in Milverton’s hand – and gotten the confession needed to put the man away for years. Now the blackmailer was behind bars and his victims were being quietly told that they were under no threat.

“So when are you going to get over this whole ‘I’m not gay’ thing and admit you two are shagging?” Lestrade asked, teasingly.

“Very funny Greg,” John sighed, “If it’s all the same to you, could we not? It’s tough enough me getting – and keeping – dates when Sherlock here makes them think we’re a couple. I don’t need you adding to it, yeah?”

“Come off it, John. I mean, if Sherlock’s fine with sharing you I’m not going to judge, but I think we all know what’s going on here,” Lestrade insisted, winking at the waitress when she returned with their drinks.

“No, no, clearly _we_ do not know what’s going on here. Sherlock and I are _not_ a couple!” John insisted firmly.

_So much for not going to lengths to defend his sexuality,_ Sherlock thought.

Lestrade chortled, “Sure you aren’t. I mean, you just said it, didn’t you? Sherlock’s not hiding it, why are you?”

“We are NOT dating! I am NOT gay!” John shouted, drawing many annoyed and disgusted stares.

“Shh! Okay, okay, no need to shout. You want it a secret that’s fine.”

“It’s not a secret, Greg,” John replied, his voice lower this time, “There is no secret. Sherlock’s co-dependent behavior may have everyone thinking we’re an item, but we’re not.”

Lestrade held up his hands to calm John down, but Sherlock cut him off before he could speak.

“Excuse me,” Sherlock snapped, “Who’s co-dependent?”

“Yes, fine, I am too,” John agreed with a sigh, “My point is that we’re not together and never will be, and I’m sick of bloody hearing about it!”

“Now John,” Lestrade started, his voice conciliatory, “Have you maybe thought that there’s a _reason_ why people assume that? Maybe you’re just not seeing what…”

John stood up, scowling angrily, “I’m going to the toilet.”

Lestrade watched him walk away with raised eyebrows. He turned his attention to Sherlock, who had rather it be anywhere else. It always hurt to hear John dismiss their relationship as mere friendship when to Sherlock it was so much more than that. He loved John, felt as though he always had done, and couldn’t understand the man’s determination to be uninterested in him sexually. He thrilled John on many levels, of that he was sure, and he was also certain that John loved him in some way. However, that was where things were brought to a screeching halt. John was straight, he claimed, and Sherlock saw no flaw in his self-deduction of heterosexuality; John might admire and love Sherlock, but he never admired his body or that of any men.

“What’s he trying to prove?” Lestrade asked, completely baffled.

“His heterosexuality, I imagine,” Sherlock replied.

“Come off it, Sherlock,” Lestrade scoffed, “The man must have had to start carrying a thesaurus a week after meeting you to keep his unending praise from being boring.”

“Apparently there is a sizable gulf between admiring and desiring,” Sherlock replied, avoiding Lestrade’s gaze, “I dislike this conversation. End it now. When John returns he’ll be furious if it continues and he might leave.”

Silence. Several minutes of it, and he could feel Lestrade’s eyes on him. Sherlock was busy watching the bathroom door in the hopes John would come out calmer than he’d gone in. If he didn’t then Sherlock would intercept him, steer him to the bar, and calm him down via inebriation. Lestrade, however, was trying to figure something out. He was rather slow so perhaps he wouldn’t, but Sherlock rather thought he had a lot of evidence to work with seeing as how Sherlock had apparently returned from ‘the dead’ just for John.

“Bloody hell. Here I’ve thought this whole time that he was the one pining after… Fuck, Sherlock, I’ve been ribbing him in hopes _you_ ’ _d_ come around, seeing as how you listen more when people talk to someone _besides_ your royal highness. Here I’ve been thinking that you’d finally notice a good thing sitting right beside you if I pointed it out enough, and this whole time you’re the one mooning after him and he’s…”

“Straight: as he has stated numerous times. As usual your deductive skills leave something to be desired.”

“Fuck. Jesus. Sherlock… I’m sorry, mate.”

“Your consolation is neither required nor wanted. Here comes John. Do shut up.”

John sat down in the booth and opened the menu without looking at either of them. Sherlock watched him quietly, knowing full well that John would excuse his staring as ‘being Sherlock’ and that Lestrade now knew the truth, making hiding it pointless. He loved every angle and plain of John’s face, the small crowfeet in the corner of each eye, the smile lines, that one spot he often missed while shaving, even the way he drew his eyebrows together and frowned when he was considering something.

“I think I’ll have the… the lamb looks good.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock agreed, “It’s been a while since you had lamb last.”

Lestrade was looking at Sherlock as if he were dying a slow and horrible death in front of him. He clearly wanted to comfort the man – or shake some sense into John – but had no idea what to do. Sherlock decided to pull him out of it a bit by turning his attention on him and raising a pointed eyebrow.

“What will _you_ have, Lestrade?”

“Oh! Ahhhhh, I think… Yeah, lamb sounds good, too. What about you, Sherlock? What about the steak with a bit of Don Juan?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and tried to convey his thoughts by glare alone: _Well that was transparent, Lestrade. Would you care to shut up now?_

“Mmm, steak does sound good,” John muttered, unaware of the eye-battle going on as Lestrade made gestures with his head to try and get Sherlock to tell John his feelings.

Sherlock decided eye-communication was clearly an inexact science and went with the far less subtle route of wringing his napkin as though it were a neck.

“You two can cut that out, now,” John stated, still not raising his eyes from his menu, “Whatever you’ve got to say you can just stuff it. I want a quiet night out and I’m not above moving to a different table to have it.”

_Should have gone with understated,_ Sherlock thought.

“John, Sherlock has something he wants to tell you…”

“No I don’t, why would I? Don’t be stupid!” Sherlock snapped irritably.

“Oh, come off it, Sherlock, you’re acting like a teenager. Just _tell_ him! He’ll understand and you’ll have it off your chest. Come what may.”

“Come what may?” Sherlock asked, while John looked up in confusion, “Our friendship will end and John will move out, come what may? Are you daft? Leave. You’re unwanted here.”

“Ah, I’m treating you, remember,” Lestrade laughed a bit.

“Luckily I came with my wallet so your presence is unnecessary. Get out.”

“Getting on everyone’s bad side today Greg?” John asked in obvious bewilderment “Isn’t that Sherlock’s job?”

Lestrade sighed, “Look. I apologize to _both_ of you. I’ll drop it, okay?”

“Fine,” Sherlock agreed, not really feeling like reaching all the way into his pants pocket to get his wallet.

“Wait… it? As in one topic?” John queried.

“Ahhh…” Lestrade floundered.

“So you’re on the same one you were on when I went to the bathroom?” John asked, sitting back a bit, “Sherlock what did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” They both stated.

“Sherlock, what are you telling people about us?” John asked, looking angry again.

“Nothing. I tell people _nothing_ about us. You do a perfectly decent job explaining our relationship…”

“There you go! Don’t call it that. It is a _friendship_. Call it what it is! Relationships are complicated and messy, ours isn’t. Friendship.”

“Fine. Friendship,” Sherlock stated firmly just as the waitress arrived, “He’ll have the braised lamb with seasonal vegetables and chips, _he’ll_ have the steak with a side salad and mashed potatoes, and I’ll have the salmon with alfredo and a side salad. Also, John will be needing a beer… mmmm, let’s go with the Newcastle.”

The waitress blinked, jotted it all down quickly, glanced at everyone at the table to make sure they were okay with their selections, then headed hurriedly away when no one looked away from Sherlock. Lestrade was biting his lip and giving Sherlock an anxious look. Sherlock was scowling after the waitress. John was staring at Sherlock with a look that said he was still processing. Sherlock could practically see the loading bar.

_John’s Mind Attic Loading…_

_Loading…_

_Loading…_

“Sherlock?” John asked, his voice going up an octave, “Did you… are you… I thought…”

_Server not found… running error report… hit ctrl alt del to restart your blogger…_

Sherlock made eye contact with John, keeping his face suitably neutral, and waited for the man to stumble through the looking glass and into Sherlock’s Mind Palace. John was clearly flailing and wishing he’d avoided this moment altogether. Lestrade decided to offer him a way out, but John was still cross with him.

“So, ahem,” Lestrade tried, “What about the Sevens, eh? John, you going?”

_Trojan horse attempted to infiltrate system. Delete virus? Hit Y or N._

“Shut up, Greg,” John snapped, still staring Sherlock down. 

_…Y_

“John your beer is on the way,” Sherlock diverted, going for John’s surefire distraction option #1: women.

_Status update posted on Urface.com. Log On to check your page!_

_John has logged on!_

The waitress plopped down the beer and John smiled cheerily at her. Sherlock estimated a good ten minutes before he’d attempt to broach the subject again. In that time he’d try to re-insinuate his sexual preferences by flirting with the waitress.

“You have a lovely name, is that Irish?”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Siobhan replied, “It’s pronounced Sha-van.”

“My sister lives in Dublin,” John smiled, throwing out the typical response, “I’ve always loved the accent.”

“Oh, well, aren’t you a dear,” The woman twittered, deepening her brogue in an obvious way. Apparently she was interested in John as well, “What’s your name then?”

“Just plain John, I’m afraid.”

“You could go with Hamish, if you like, since that’s his middle name,” Sherlock interrupted, “Then again, given the history of the Irish and the Scottish, perhaps you’d better not.”

The waitress gave Sherlock an uncomfortable look and then muttered an excuse to leave. John gave Sherlock a withering look and Lestrade winced, apparently pitying them both.

“Do you _have_ to do that?” John snapped.

“Do what?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“Cock block me,” John snapped, calling him on it for a change.

“I did no such thing, I was merely pointing out that your middle name is far less common than your first.”

“And bringing up generations of cultural and religious hostility.”

“Well, that was years ago, wasn’t it?”

Lestrade and John both gave Sherlock that look that said he’d stated something every normal bloke in England knew the answer to.

“Or not,” Sherlock sighed.

“Bit complicated,” John sighed, “Not that you care.”

“Not really, no,” Sherlock agreed amicably.

John then launched into a tirade about social change, English oppression, and religious tension that Sherlock promptly tuned out in favor of watching his myriad facial expressions.

“So you see, its well on its way to improving, but there’s a lot of old prejudice to be overcome. You see it more in the… Sherlock? Are you listening?”

“Not really, no,” Sherlock replied, then noticed John starting to think again… or attempt to.

_Loading…_

“Sherlock what do you think about when you stare at me like that?” John asked, attempting casual but failing miserably.

_Program found. Open program? Y or N._

“Experiments, cases, what you might change your password to next to try and keep me out of your laptop,” Sherlock started, their food arrived and John tucked in without prompting.

“You know, you can’t lie to me anymore, Sherlock. I know what you look like when you lie to me.”

_…Y_

_Program opening…_

“Mmm,” Sherlock grunted, devouring his food with gusto. He really was hungry.

_Program Parameters – Deductive Reasoning: Level Amateur. Run program? Y or N._

“So the question is what you’re trying so hard to hide from me.”

_…Y_

“Now, you pointed out several diversionary tactics, the laptop, beer, cases, experiments, Lestrade tried with rugby so he knows whatever it is you’re playing at.”

_Deduction Loading…_

_Loading…_

_Loading…_

John tapped his fork to his lips as he chewed, his mind turning things over and over again.

“Well, I suppose since I’m not the genius you are…”

Sherlock snorted, possibly rudely; he wasn’t entirely certain since the situation most certainly warranted that response.

“Git,” John added before continuing, “So I suppose I’ll have to use more direct methods. Are you hiding something to do with the conversation Lestrade and I were having earlier?”

“No.”

“Yes, then,” John stated, surprising Sherlock by proving he _could_ read him when he lied.

“Has Lestrade got a thing for someone?”

“No.”

“Do you two think I’ve got a thing for someone,” John narrowed his eyes accusingly at Lestrade, “ _still._ ”

“No, we’ve _straight_ ened that out,” Lestrade replied, looking pointedly at Sherlock.

John looked relieved, “So you told him we’re not together?”

Sherlock nodded and John frowned rather than be relieved: “I’m almost afraid to suggest this, but you always say when the probable has been eliminated we must look to the improbable so…”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John sat and stared at him blankly for a moment.

_Deduction 90% complete…_

“Sherlock, are you gay?”

“No.”

John looked bewildered a moment and then tried again, “Bi-sexual?”

“No.”

“Asexual?”

“No.”

“Okay, so straight then.”

“Yes.”

John blinked: “You just lied. You told the truth to not being gay, bisexual, or asexual, but you lied about being straight? What the hell are there besides those four?”

“Pansexual,” Lestrade chimed in unhelpfully.

“Demisexual,” Some moron from the bar chirped.

“Polyamorous,”Lestrade offered.

“Is that technically an orientation?” John questioned.

“Arguably,” Sherlock replied, “Honestly, the list could go on forever.”

“What about Trans?” Lestrade asked.

“More of a gender, but I suppose one could argue it as a sexual orientation as well,” Sherlock replied.

“Omnisexual,” The waitress chimed in.

“That’s the same as pansexual. Do you actually _want_ a tip?” Sherlock snarled.

“Oh, so you’re pansexual,” John decided, then took in Sherlock’s face and shook his head, “No, not that either. What about the other?”

“Demisexual,” The moron supplied again.

“Yes,” Sherlock relented, recognizing that John had a new talent he might as well learn to cope with.

“Okay,” John smiled, “What’s that, then?”

Sherlock glared at the moron at the bar until he turned around and went back to his drink. Then he took a breath and launched into an explanation.

“Demisexuals are characterized by a lack of sexual attraction toward any person unless they become deeply emotionally or romantically connected with a specific person or persons. The level of connection it takes for sexual desire to form is dependent on how close the relationship is rather than initial attraction. Demisexuality does not refer to the active restraint or repression of sexual desires or actions. A demisexual is not primarily attracted to either sex, nor do they primarily desire to have sex. This means that a romantic demisexual is someone who, in layman's terms, looks for personality over sex by nature. Primarily, the human will not be attracted to another human, but after being with another human romantically, feelings may begin to develop. This is further elaborated upon by Rabger's Model…”

“You’re attracted to me,” John made the statement with eyes wide enough to put an owl to shame and a voice so monotone it gave Sherlock pause. Lestrade was mouthing ‘human’ with an incredulous look on his face as though that were the relevant part of the statement.

_Deduction 100% Complete._

“Yes.”

“Why not Lestrade?”

“He doesn’t spend the time with me you do.”

“Why not… bugger,” John leaned back in the booth and rubbed his hands over his face before grabbing his beer and taking a steadying gulp, “Okay, well, your statement before about me ending our friendship and moving out…”

Sherlock closed his eyes and waited for the pain to start, but then jumped when John put a hand over his wrist and squeezed it.

“Hey, don’t shut me out,” John stated, his face worried when Sherlock opened his eyes, “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not just going to ditch you. Listen you… Greg, could you give us a minute?”

“Ah, yeah,” Lestrade responded, though he looked like he’d rather stay. Sherlock didn’t blame him. This reveal was probably fascinating.

“Sherlock,” John sighed when Lestrade left, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

John studied him quietly for a moment, “Okay. Yeah. Are we okay?”

“Yes. No. Are we?”

“I am if you are.”

“Then everything is fine,” Sherlock stated firmly.

More studying, and Sherlock wondered if this was how _he_ made people feel.

“Okay,” John nodded, then turned back to his food and gestured to Lestrade to return.

Sherlock went back to his own meal, but it was oddly less enjoyable.

 

I shamelessly copy & pasted from this site: [http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Demisexual\](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Demisexual%5C%5C)

[ CHAPTER TWO ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/4886.html)

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

John had been googling all morning. There were literally endless possibilities for not just sexuality, but gender as well. He’d always thought only of male and female, but now he was looking at a world of male, female, transsexual, intersex… apparently there was a difference between dragqueens/kings and transvestites. He was both lost and relieved. It made so much more sense to him that in a world made up of so many different types of people there would be so many different types of identifications. He was stuck somewhere between wondering if a label was really healthy and questioning if he had harmed hundreds of people before hand with his assumption that ‘he’ was really ‘he’. Apparently there was an entire list of different pronouns to be used when speaking to someone intersexed, genderfluid, or trans; still more confusing, was that not all people used them from said group.

John decided to start closest to home and headed into the kitchen where Sherlock was mixing chemicals and staring into his microscope.

“Sherlock, are you busy?”

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“No.”

“What pronoun should I use for you?”

Sherlock blinked at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes before replying: “He/him/his.”

“Right, thanks.”

John headed back to the sofa and plopped down. Well, that answered exactly zip. John pulled out his phone instead.

“Harry? Hi, do you have a second? I have a few questions em… try not to take this the wrong way, okay?”

“Okaaaay,” Harry drawled, “I’m still on the wagon.”

“Not about that… oh, but congrats and keep up the good work… I meant, what is your um… sexuality.”

“Jesus, John, where have you been for the last fifteen years? I’m fucking _gay_.”

“I mean, do you have a… more accurate term for yourself.”

Silence for a moment: “Homosexual? Lesbian? Look, where are you going with this? Did you join a fucking church or something, because I swear if you…”

“No! Look, I’ve been looking into some stuff and… church? Why?”

“Maybe because I woke up to three pamphlets on my car telling me I’m going to hell this morning. Then you call up and start asking me to define myself after 15 years, a marriage and a divorce to a _woman_ , what the hell, John? Why not?”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry you’re going through that. If it helps the church I go to is supportive of homosexuality and gay marriage… I don’t know about all the others, though.”

“What others and where the hell is this coming from?”

“Well, they’ve never mentioned how they feel about pansexuality or demisexuality or…”

“Did you get lost on tumblr or something?”

“Look, I’m sorry I called, I was just trying to figure something out.”

“Wait! Don’t hang up, Johnny. I’m sorry, I just… I just woke up on the wrong foot. Okay, so… you’re asking some questions. That’s great. I mean, I’ve always wondered about that ‘friend’ you’re living with.”

“Yeah, well,” John laughed, “He’s the start of this. So just lesbian then?”

“Yep. Just plain ol’ boring lesbian,” Harry laughed, “What about you?”

“Oh, I… I’m just thinking a bit, it’s not like that,” John avoided, not wanting to share Sherlock’s personal information with Harry when she spoke far too loosely when drunk.

“Okay, sure, well what other questions do you have?”

“What about gender? Are you… do you identify as a female?”

“Wow, that’s a loaded question. No. I’m not. I’m transsexual, honey, although some people might not agree with that since I don’t intend to ever have surgery. Sometimes I call myself gender fluid, or transmale, or just ‘cross-dresser’ to avoid the issue, but I never feel like a female and gender fluid people generally feel male sometimes and female other times. Cross-dresser applies, obviously, but then you’ve seen me. Breasts proudly bound since 2001.”

“So you only feel male?” John asked for clarity.

“Yes,” Harry replied, her voice soft and frightened.

“I’m okay with that, Harry,” John insisted, shocked that she thought otherwise, “You’re my sister, I don’t care what gender you identify with. I love you. Should I call you brother? He/him/his?”

There was a moment of silence and then a soft sound that John took a moment to realize was sobbing.

“Harry?” John asked, worried, “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… relieved and… thank you, Johnny, really _thank you,_ and I would be so thrilled if you’d call me your brother.”

“It’s fine… I… I love you, Harry. I really do. I’m sorry I haven’t been a good enough brother up until now to notice how you felt. Shit, you dress like a guy, where the hell have I been?”

Harry laughed a bit, “Well, this isn’t about me. What about you? Should I call you ‘him’ still?”

“Oh, ahhhh, yeah. Him works for now,” John replied awkwardly.

“Well, let me know if you want something different, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Harry… Is this why you drink?”

“… Yeah. It’s a big part of it.”

“Will you be okay tonight?” John asked, thinking of times that Mycroft had called ‘danger nights’ for Sherlock.

“Yeah, I’ll be great; better than great. This is… these are good tears.”

“So, to sum it up: transsexual, lesbian, male, transvestite.”

“Yeah, but lots of us prefer cross-dresser to transvestite; you’re better off asking. Some people prefer genderqueer to sum up the whole thing, too, instead of breaking it down.”

“Do you know anyone who uses those, um, gender neutral terms?”

“Yeah, Clara,” Harry laughed.

“You’re kidding? Why didn’t she ever say anything?”

“For the same reason I never did: fear of persecution.”

“I _loved_ her. We still send each other Christmas cards!”

“You loved me, too.”

“I think I see what you mean, so what did sh… _Clara_ , use?”

“LambdaMOO spivak.”

“Sorry?”

Harry laughed again, “It’s a form of spivak.”

“Again, sorry?”

“E, em, eir, eirs, and emself.”

“So I would say ‘Clara went to the mall and bought emself a bagel’?”

“Yep, e did love bagels, didn’t e?”

John chuckled, “No offense, but it sounds like a bad accent.”

“Yeah, but e never liked the typical gender neutral because e thought it still sounded like a gender. E was gender fluid.”

“What’s the other kind?”

“Ze, hir, hirs, hirself.”

“Here? Hereself?”

“It’s spelled h.i.r.”

“Oh! That makes more sense. I think I like that one better. To each hir own, though, I suppose.”

Harry laughed and she and John switched onto other topics for a while. When John got off the phone he was shocked to see that he had been talking to her for over two hours. Sherlock had gone to bed for pity’s sake!

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

John woke up the next morning and sent Harry a text to find out if he was still okay. He replied cheerfully and asked if he could use John as a reference for a job. John heartily agreed and John headed downstairs with a spring in his step. Sherlock was on the couch in his thinking pose.

“I said I’d like some, too,” Sherlock stated without opening his eyes.

“Like some what?”

“Tea, you make some every morning.”

“Right, no problem,” John chuckled and headed into the bathroom first.

“You were on the phone for an awfully long time last night, John,” Sherlock mentioned when John put his teacup down on the coffee table.

“Yeah, it was a really good conversation, and I owe it all to you. You really opened my eyes up.”

“Superior intelligence has that effect.”

“I mean we talked for hours and we really connected. That’s never happened before.”

“Mmm.”

“He actually _cried_.”

“He?”

“Then we told each other we loved each other! Can you believe that?”

“That’s… interesting,” Sherlock replied, sitting up and narrowing his eyes at John.

“I know, I was shocked, too. He said he felt relieved, I think he thought I’d hate him because of how he felt, but after you told me about being demisexual it really opened my eyes.”

“I thought you were talking to Harry last night.”

John chuckled, “Can’t slip anything past you, genius.”

“I’d like to borrow your gun, John.”

“No way, uh, uh, last time you shot the buzzer.”

“I have no intention of shooting an inanimate object.”

“You have a case, we’ll go together and I’ll bring the sig; you’re not borrowing it. What’s the case?”

Sherlock shook his head slowly, “No case.”

“Well then, no gun. I’m going for a walk. Text me if you get a case.” 

 

[Gender Neutral Pronouns Link](http://web.mit.edu/trans/GenderNeutralPronouns.pdf)   
  


[CHAPTER THREE](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/5121.html)


	3. vincentmeoblinn | Defining Yourself Ch 3

John was in love with someone. Someone named Harry. Some _guy_ named Harry. Sherlock was replaying every conversation John had ever had mentioning ‘Harry’ and trying to figure out which had been his sister and which had been his mysterious new boyfriend. He had too little evidence. He was unused to being hurt emotionally and now he was at a loss as to how to react. He was angry, hurt, confused.

If John were gay and wanted a man, why not him? Sherlock was aware of how attractive most people found him, even if physical appearance didn’t matter to him. If John were demisexual as well, wasn’t Sherlock the obvious choice? They spent hours out of every day with each other. Perhaps the problem was that Sherlock had never emotionally bonded with John the way John had with him. John always shared his feelings and went out of his way to reach out to Sherlock. Perhaps Sherlock needed to do the same. If he worked hard enough, he might win John over. Whoever this fellow was, he obviously wasn’t close enough to John demographically or they’d have seen each other more often. Sherlock still had a chance. He _had_ to. He’d never cared for anyone like this before, and now that John was clearly not repulsed by the male figure, Sherlock wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

John returned from… where had he been? For how long? Days? Damn. Paying attention to his silly activities outside of cases was probably a good start.

“Good afternoon, John. How was your day?” Sherlock asked, rushing to his feet and hurrying to take John’s jacket.

“Uh, well… it’s actually evening, and I was out with Harry. Didn’t notice I was gone again, eh?”

“Harry.”

“Yeah, Harry. Do you want to go out for dinner? I’m ti…”

“Yes! Yes, let’s go out. My shout,” Sherlock agreed readily.

“Ah… okay.”

Sherlock bundled John back up, threw on his own coat and scarf, and politely held the door for him.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” John asked suspiciously.

“Dinner. With you,” Sherlock replied, painting an innocent look on his face.

“Sherlock I… this isn’t a date, you know that, right?” John asked. Sherlock noted his nervousness and smiled reassuringly.

“John, I understand that better than anyone else, remember? It’s fine. I don’t expect anything back.”

“I… Sherlock, I’m not sure _I’m_ okay with that. I mean… it isn’t fair to you. I don’t want to lead you on.”

“It’s _fine_ , John. It’s all fine. I just want to spend time with you like we always do.”

“Yeah, that’s good, I’m okay with that, but the other day you were acting like yourself and now you’re not.”

“Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you thought, eh?” Sherlock smiled cheerfully, and then gestured to the door again.

“Well… okay, yeah. Sorry. If Harry and I could reconnect than why can’t you and I?”

“Precisely,” Sherlock agreed.

XXX

Dinner was fantastic. Sherlock hadn’t bothered to listen to John unless he was flattering him before, but it turned out he was actually quite witty and charming. He told Sherlock a captivating story about University and then another about his military ‘buddies’.

“And is that where you met Harry? The military?”

“Wha… Sherlock, Harry’s my brother!” John laughed, “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Your… brother? You consider Harry your brother?” Sherlock asked, smiling in relief.

“Yes, but…” John blushed and looked down at his sandwich, “Look, don’t look at me like that. I’m more open minded and all, but I’m not… I’m just learning and figuring this all out, you know?”

“That’s _fine_ John. Really, I don’t mind. I’m an _intellectual_ person. An _intellectual_ relationship with you is perfectly satisfactory.”

_Until you’re done exploring your new sexuality and I can snatch you up for my own._

“I can’t believe you’re actually treating me like an _equal_ for a change,” John laughed, smiling more than Sherlock had ever seen.

_So much for being able to tell when I’m lying._

“Oh, but I can tell you’re lying about the satisfactory part,” John chuckled a bit.

_Damn_.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m no stranger to the friend zone, Sherlock,” John sighed, turning serious for a moment.

“Friend zone?”

“Yeah, being told you’re only a friend to someone who you think more of?”

“Ah,” Sherlock nodded, filing that one away for deletion later.

“I feel awful about it, Sherlock, I hope you know that. I’m not just ignoring your feelings. That’s why I’m trying not to treat you any differently or mess up our friendship.”

“Our friendship is important to me,” Sherlock stated, because people often said that about John’s friendship with him, especially Lestrade.

“I’m glad you feel that way, Sherlock. It’s important to me, too.”

XXX

They headed out to a movie after that, mostly because John as feeling a bit giddy after all the wine he’d had during dinner. Sherlock was feeling warm and happy himself; being around John all evening had left him feeling connected with him in a way he never had before. He wanted John more than ever, and the idea of heading into his room to satisfy himself or wait for it to go away on its on was becoming less and less appealing.

Sherlock slipped his arm around John’s waist as they headed up the stairs, laughing along with him despite the fact he didn’t seem to be actually laughing at anything in general.

“Did you see? The guy? His face?” John laughed uproariously.

Sherlock chuckled and led John upstairs to bed. John collapsed on his bed with a grin on his face and started toeing off his shoes. Sherlock sat on the edge, enjoying the sight of John so relaxed and open to him. He’d never imagined him like this, so at ease and cheerful. John had tugged off his jumper and sat up on the bed, smiling at Sherlock as he tugged off his belt as well.

“John?” Sherlock asked as he leaned forward, his eyes roving over what little he could see of John’s body as the man flopped back down again.

“You… you are a very handsome man, Sherlock,” John stated firmly.

“Mmm, some call me pretty, too, you know,” Sherlock smirked.

“You vain thing,” John chuckled, “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. I’ve always admired you and now… it’s like we’ve connected on a whole new level.”

“Like we’re one person,” Sherlock murmured, “Two halves to a whole.”

John sobered suddenly, “Greg says that, you know. That I made you better…”

“You _have_ made me better, John. I can’t promise you I’ll be sweet and charming, or that I won’t ridicule you when you absolutely deserve it…”

John was chuckling again, “Or when you think I do.”

“I’m a genius. If I think you deserve it, then you do,” Sherlock said firmly.

John laughed outright and then nodded, “Okay, Sherlock, whatever you say.”

“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock breathed.

“Night, Sherlock.”

XXXXXXXXXX

John watched Sherlock leave and sat quietly for a moment. He’d been acting like a fool all night, but he had no idea why. He’d been giddy, elated, flushed on a regular basis, and had had been half aroused for a good part of the night as well. It was almost as if…

_Oh, no! That bastard!_

John was out of his bed and stomping down the stairs in a temper. He threw open Sherlock’s bedroom door to find the man _jerking off_ of all things, but was too angry to gape in shock at that rather alarming sight. Sherlock shamelessly continued to stroke his cock while looking over his shoulder at John with one eyebrow raised.

“May I help you, John?”

“Did you drug me?”

“Drug you?”

“Yes! Drug me!”

“Unless you are referring to the wine you consumed, no,” Sherlock replied, his hand speeding up a bit. He shifted down on the bed and John’s eyes dropped into Sherlock’s lap of their own accord. Sherlock’s cock was long and purple at the tip, the foreskin sliding over the head and back as Sherlock took himself in hand.

“Did you put something in my wine?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell have I been off kilter all night?”

“I – mph! – have no idea. You didn’t consume enough to be drunk even if you _had_ been on an empty stomach, which you decidedly were not. The movie was humorous, but not enough to promote that level of – ah! – Giddiness. You were open and affectionate, but I attribute that to me being the same.”

John swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat.

_Damn it, I’m 41 years old. I know attraction when I feel it. Face the fuck up, Watson._

“Sherlock, I’d like to kiss you, but if I run out of the room in a panic, I want you to delete the whole thing.”

Sherlock’s hand stilled and he straightened back up: “Very well, I suppose that’s a suitable arrangement.”

John sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to press his lips to Sherlock’s before his nerves could catch him up. When it didn’t make him recoil in disgust he reached out and palmed Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock moaned appreciatively and released his member so John could grip it lightly in his hand. John felt his own cock twitch appreciatively in his pants and gave Sherlock an experimental stroke as he compared their sizes and shapes by feel alone. Sherlock whimpered and his hips thrust feebly for a moment before John pulled back. Sherlock groaned and his head fell back to slam into his headboard rather sharply.

“I just… how experienced are you, Sherlock,” John asked breathlessly, “Sexually?”

“I’m aware of the dynamics.”

“So you’re a virgin?”

“Entirely.”

“I… I’m a bit… well, I’ve been with women.”

“Apparently, yes.”

“I’d like to be with you, now.”

“Thank gods,” Sherlock breathed, and pulled John in for another kiss.

There was a general struggle with clothing and then John was pressing Sherlock into the mattress as he hungrily stroked along sharp hipbones, the smooth planes of Sherlock’s chest and abdomen, and then wrapped a hand around his cock again. Sherlock took his in hand and they panted against each other’s necks as they stroked each other fast and hard towards their inevitable completion.

“Sherlock!” John gasped.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock whispered, and then arched his back up off the bed as his come painted their stomachs and chests in pearlescent fluid.

“Sherlock! Don’t stop!” John pleaded, frantically humping the stiffened man’s hand.

Sherlock remembered John and gave his hand a deft twist before thumbing the man’s cockhead and then stroking down the frenulum on the next downstroke. John cried out and came hard, his head thrown back in bliss. They both took a moment to pant and come down from their sudden rush of hormones before John sat back on the bed and surveyed the man before him. Sherlock looked utterly debauched, his hair a mess, his body painted in their mingled essence, his lips swollen with kisses, and his eyes glazed over with satisfaction. He had a silly grin on his face and John quickly leaned forward to kiss it away before he started to question this.

“Can I stay?” John asked hesitantly.

“I insist,” Sherlock replied, blinking in apparent surprise.

John settled in close after fetching a towel for them to clean up with. He’d deal with the consequences in the morning –and he had no doubt there would _be_ consequences. For now, he was just content to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s waist and listen to the man’s breathe even out.

XXX

When morning came John awoke hard and aching. He reached out for the warm scent he caught before remembering that it was _Sherlock_ he’d spent the night with! He jolted upright, but the bed was empty and cold with the exception of himself. He caught the warm notes of violin music wafting from the front room and stood to follow it. He was stark naked and unashamedly erect; it was lucky no one was over, but he wasn’t thinking of that. His eyes were completely focused on the swaying figure in front of the window.

John slipped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, nuzzling his neck and whispering into his ear.

“Put that down and come stroke something else, hm?”

“Are you going to want this regularly?” Sherlock demanded to know.

“S-Sorry?”

“Sex, John. Are you going to want it regularly?”

“Not if you don’t,” John replied, his enthusiasm wilting with his erection.

“What if I do? What if I want more than that from you? More than a carnal relationship?”

“Then I want that, too.”

“What about Harry?”

“He’ll understand. He’s probably been rooting for us,” John chuckled, “Come to bed, Sherlock. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want you, you brilliant madman.”

Sherlock placed the Stradivarius and the bow gently in their case and then followed John back to the bedroom like a docile lamb. John had it all planned out in his head. He would lay Sherlock down on the bed, kiss and caress away his insecurities, bring him to full hardness with his mouth, and if Sherlock was ready…

His plans halted there because Sherlock slipped his housecoat off and then tackled John like a wild thing. John found himself on his back with his legs around Sherlock’s waist as the man panted and moaned and pressed his hardened cock against John’s quickly renewing erection. Suddenly Sherlock’s warmth vanished and John lay there confused and aroused until the man suddenly reappeared at the doorway with… vegetable oil?

“On your hands and knees, John,” Sherlock stated in the same tone he used to ask him to examine a corpse.

John had complied before he’d processed the tone and then gasped as a wet finger circled his hole before pressing inside. John gasped, not quite ready for the intrusion, but bore it anyway and was soon relaxing around it. Sherlock murmured that he was doing well and then slipped in a second finger. John hissed at the burn but pushed back, eager to please Sherlock as he had last night.

_I’m going to have sex with Sherlock Holmes. He’s going to bugger me senseless and I’m so fucking excited about it…_

John gasped as Sherlock slipped in a third but then he crooked them and John was seeing stars.

“Prostate!” John shouted pointlessly.

“Yes, I’m aware doctor,” Sherlock teased lightly, “Would you like more?”

“Yes!”

A few more teasing strokes with his finger and then Sherlock’s lubed cock was pressing against and inside of him. John groaned and focused on _not_ clenching his muscles. Sherlock was long and slender, his cock ramrod straight, and he filled John’s body to _perfection_. John was still taking slow deep breaths as Sherlock stilled against him, trying to relax his muscles as Sherlock’s sexy baritone was urging.

“Just a bit more, John, you’re doing _so_ _well_.”

John moaned and Sherlock interpreted it as a go-ahead and slid out. John had a dizzying moment of feeling empty and decidedly _not_ liking that feeling, and then Sherlock was slipping back inside. Next thing he knew he was being taken fast and hard and it was _glorious_. Sherlock hit his pleasure spot again and again and John was soon bucking back to meet him.

“Touch yourself, John, I… I can’t last! You’re so _tight_ and… oh!”

John gripped his cock and stroked it fast and hard as Sherlock stilled and his cock swelled just before emptying into John’s body. John moaned his appreciation as Sherlock gasped and moaned before slapping John’s hand away and taking him firmly in hand. He had John shouting out his orgasm before Sherlock had even had a chance to soften. They collapsed onto the bed together, Sherlock slowly and carefully slipping out. John hissed a bit in pain, but was relieved to find himself able to bear it.

“John,” Sherlock breathed as though it were a prayer.

“Sherlock,” John echoed softly.

“John?” Sherlock asked, his tone suddenly aggressive.

“Sherlock?” John asked in concern.

“Harry your brother _is_ _Harry your sister_!”

“What? We discussed this last night at dinner, of course he is.”

“Harry identifies as male?”

“Yes.”

“You found out a few days ago?”

“Yes. What’s this all about?”

“You… You John Watson _intoxicate me_ and leave me unable to focus on the Work! You will have to keep me satisfied from now on lest I make a _grievous error!”_

“Whatever you say, Sherlock,” John chuckled, “Whatever you say.”

http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/5495.html


	4. vincentmeoblinn | Defining Yourself Ch 4

John wasn’t surprised to see the sleek black car pull up beside him, so he didn’t even think twice before sliding into it. The ride was like any of the others with the exception that he did not flirt or attempt to flirt with Anthea. He saw that she was beautiful and sexually desirable, but one thought of Sherlock had him smiling happily out the window at traffic. Honestly, it was too perfect of a relationship. Sherlock gave him what no one else did: a reason to live and a way that was fulfilling. How could he not love him because of that? How could he not be attracted to him? John was fully aware he was bordering on worship – or had perhaps crossed right into it – but he was too cheerful to care. Sherlock the mad brilliant detective/scientist/genius loved him, and he loved him right back.

John hopped out of the car with a spring in his step: “Laters!”

“Wait, that’s it?” Anthea asked, calling him back.

“Sorry?”

“No witty banter, no comment on my dress bringing out my eyes?”

“Oh, so it does, it’s lovely,” John smiled, waved, and headed into the boathouse Mycroft was meeting him in.

“This is a change of scenery,” John smiled, “How’ve you been Mycroft? Still holding off war and bringing forward political change?”

“What do you intend with my brother, Dr. Watson?” Mycroft demanded, his voice practically dripping disdain.

Mycroft stood firmly on both feet, his brolly planted between them like a flag of war. His eyes were narrowed and he was surprisingly flushed.

“Oh, right to the chase, then. That’s none of your business, but since you’re his brother I will tell you that you have nothing to worry about; I’m in love with him.”

“You weren’t yesterday.”

“I was, but I had no way to return it. We hadn’t reached that point yet.”

“I don’t believe you, doctor. Whatever game you are playing, it is a dangerous one.”

“No game,” John replied, shaking his head firmly.

“Four days ago you were unaware of my brother’s bizarre interest in you…”

“It’s not bizarre, he’s only attracted to people he’s in love with that’s… bloody romantic as hell.”

“It’s a very acute trust issue; much more severe than yours. Clearly Sherlock was sexually assaulted at some point and deleted it or has hidden it from me.”

“That’s your thought on the matter? You don’t understand it, so you’re going to make it an illness or the symptom of one? Bloody ignorant of you, that,” John snapped, “I suppose homosexuality comes from child abuse and cross-dressing is because someone was too close to the wrong parent, eh?”

“I don’t write the psychology books, doctor…”

“The books are _wrong_. In fact they’re changing. They’re being re-written because there are so many exceptions to the rules that the doctors and scientists are _realizing_ they’re wrong.”

“My brother could be destroyed by you, have you no shame?”

“Have you? I love him. That isn’t changing.”

Mycroft scoffed, “Four days ago you were straight!”

“I still am. I am a heterosexual, cismale, with a deviance.”

“A deviance?”

“Yes, I deviate from my sexuality for Sherlock, he’s the exception to the rule. You can call me heteroflexible if it helps you sleep at night, but that’s not how I identify myself. Look up the Kinsey Scale.”

“You are clearly _very_ confused, and I don’t have the time or energy to waste cleaning up your mess when you realize this and do something to hurt Sherlock,” Mycroft snarled.

“I’d rather die than hurt him.”

Mycroft laughed, quite a bit darkly, “I’m so very glad you see it that way, doctor.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock was sitting comfortably on his chair tuning his violin and lovingly checking the strings over. He was delightfully sore from a very thorough buggering John had given him before heading to the Tesco to get some odds and ends for dinner. Just before he’d left the man had whispered in his ear that Sherlock made him feel like a teenager again, and then he’d bent him over the sofa and had his way with him. It was so perfectly normal. Their sexual lives blended in with their non-sexual lives. John treated Sherlock the same as ever, Sherlock treated John the same as ever, and when John smiled a certain way Sherlock’s libido went mad. Apparently when Sherlock narrowed his eyes, John’s went mad; an important piece of data that he’d stored away in the entire wing of his Mind Palace that was devoted to _John_.

Sherlock’s phone went off indicating it was Mycroft’s text and he sighed and answered it. He’d known his brother would harass him about John, but he’d hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

_Congratulations on your union_. _M_

Sherlock blinked, short and to the point without sarcasm or questioning the situation? Had someone stolen Mycroft’s phone?

Sherlock heard oddly heavy tread on the stairway and paused as he attempted to make out whose it was by sound alone, but he couldn’t manage it. The sound was _almost_ John’s gait, but it sounded weighted down entirely rather than hampered by bags. The door swung open before Sherlock could finish his deduction and John stood in the entryway, soaked through, covered in debris, and fuming mad. His ankles and feet had what appeared to be quick-dry cement clinging to them in dried chucks, as though someone had encased his ankles in cement and then broken it open again. Judging by the mud content color and consistency he had been on the southern boat dock of the Thames – well, he had been _over_ the southern boat dock of the Thames.

“You Holmes men are seriously fucked up!” John shouted, then turned and started dragging himself up the next flight of stairs to his room.

_Mycroft, did you attempt to drown my lover? SH_

_He sticks to his guns quite admirably. I was most impressed. Do bring him round for Christmas. I’m sure Mummy would love to meet him. M_

Sherlock stared at his phone with no small amount of horror, glanced at the calendar, decided seven months was far too short a time for Mycroft and Mummy to cool off, and then called up the stairs.

“JOHN! We’re going to Harry’s for Christmas this year!”

“You bet your tight arse we are!”


End file.
